


Nothing but a promise of trouble coming soon

by PrimalScream



Category: Black Sails
Genre: A little bit of angst, A little bit of pining, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Modern AU, Navy Seal!James, President!John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2019-03-21 20:26:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13748628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrimalScream/pseuds/PrimalScream
Summary: Threats to John's life have become increasingly worrying, enter James to save the day.





	1. Blue Moon

John sits on the edge of the table, Max standing beside him, “When did you hear about this?”

“A month ago.” She blows out a frustrated breath, “I didn’t act on it then because I was assured that it was under control.”

John presses his fingers into his eyes, “Alright, so what do we know?” 

“Thirteen of the eighty two passengers showed up at one of six emergency rooms three days after the flight landed at BCI. Two of them were already at what the CDC is calling the bleed stage.” John can feel himself grimace even as she continues “All thirteen were in economy, all flying out of Dubai and into the US, all of them American citizens.” She spreads an enlarged seating chart over the table, there are thirteen yellow colored boxes spread throughout the body of the plane indicating that it wasn’t restricted to just one area. 

“What is the determination from the CDC?”

“It’s a virus, easily curable as long as the patient seeks care when symptoms present. When CDC started putting the pieces together and realized all thirteen had been on the same flight, they started contacting the remaining passengers. No one else was sick, and no one else was American.”

Rubbing his hands over his face, John sighs, he doesn’t like the implications of that particular statement but before he can say anything his chief of staff, breezes through the door, “The Vice President needs a word immediately, Sir.” 

John nods, turning back to Max saying, “Get to the bottom of this, let me know if we need to issue a travel advisory.” Max nods and John follows Muldoon out the door. “Did Jack say what he wanted?”

John doesn’t like the way Muldoon’s face pulls tight, “No, Sir.” John knows it's a lie but he also knows better than to try and force the issue. His chief of staff is a hard ass at the best of times but it’s precisely the reason John bribed him into following John all the way to Washington. John doesn’t think he could function without Muldoon to bounce his thoughts off of. Muldoon had started working for him four and a half years ago, he’d served two tours in Afghanistan before joining the California senate as an intern. John had snatched him up almost immediately and he has proved invaluable to John when dealing with issues at Veterans Affairs and the military in general. 

When they get to the Oval Office, John finds Jack leaning against the edge of John’s desk. Muldoon quietly shuts the door and stands damn near at attention next to the Secret Service agent to his left.

Jack looks tense, his brow drawn down, his usual smile replaced by a slight frown, “Jack?”

Muldoon and Jack share a tense look which is never a good sign as far as John is concerned. Jack pushes off the desk and paces across the room, “There’s really no gentle way to say this, we’ve received some fairly serious threats on your life.”

“Death threats?” John is mildly confused.

“Yes, John, death threats.” John watches as his Vice President rakes his hand through his hair and strides back and forth in front of him, all of Jack’s wildly popular charisma suddenly absent. John knows that Jack is probably more than half the reason he was elected in the first place. Jack’s gift of gab and his way of charming everything from potted plants to the most conservative committee wives, combined with John’s ability to spin a yarn enthralling the masses had created a whirlwind of popularity on which the Silver/Rackham ticket had floated into the White House eighteen months ago.

John relaxes, he’d thought this was going to be something serious, “Jack, I get death threats on a daily basis. All it takes is the wrong tie.” At this point John would find it odd to go a day without a dozen of them. He’s the first unapologetically, openly, bisexual president. Much to the displeasure of his cabinet and re-election committee, he’s been photographed on dates with men and women alike. Pick a side, they keep telling him, and no matter how many times John tries to explain to them that, that is not how it works, they still hound him. 

Jack takes a folder from one of the secret service agents standing at the door, “Not like this.” 

Jacks flips the file open and John recoils before reaching out and taking the folder himself. In the file are more than a dozen photos of John in places civilians shouldn’t have had access to, bulls eyes painted on his forehead. Under those are detailed graphic drawings of John’s dismembered body, his skull cracked open, blood and gore spilling out onto the ground. Most death threats come in the form of cut out magazine letters pasted together or religious zealots that tell John he’s going to hell for his deviant lifestyle and wish him a speedy trip. These are carefully crafted making sure everyone knows that the individual making them has unfettered access to the President and therefore presents an imminent threat. John suddenly understands Jack’s caution. 

In the corner is a red dot about the size of a dime, John scratches at it and his finger comes away with flecks clinging to his skin, “Is that actual blood?”

Jack only nods, “The FBI ran it, hoping for traces of DNA. They got a hit.” 

“Great, should make it easy to arrest them.” John flips the file closed.

Jack pauses, swallows and looks across the room at Muldoon once again before pressing his lips together. He stuffs his hands in his pockets and rocks back on his heels.

John’s patience is thinning quickly, “Out with it already, this isn’t American Idol and you’re not Ryan Seacrest throwing it to commercial break. What the fuck is going on, Jack.”

“It’s yours. The blood, it’s yours.”

John feels all the blood drain out of his face as he drops the file to the floor and takes a step back, “That’s impossible.”

“They ran it three times. The Service has called in a special unit to supplement your detail, they’ll also be handling the investigation.”

John drops back onto the couch, his eyes scanning the oval office, for the first time since he was ten years old, he no longer wants this job.

***

Twenty four hours later a dozen men file into the Oval Office in well fitted suits tugging on their ties, their necks riddled with nicks and razor burn. John takes one look at them and nearly snorts. These are not men from the Secret Service. Jack introduces each of them, all of them big and muscled and capable, their names get lost in the back of John’s mind until they get to the head of the detail. 

“James Flint. He’ll be your twenty four seven shadow, liaison and lead investigator. He’ll operate jointly with your current detail.” Their eyes meet and John feels like he’s been struck by lightning. He holds his hand out, just as he did with everyone else, but when James’s hand slides into his, John shivers. James has a full head of dirty blond hair cut close but long enough to get his fingers into, a full beard and mustache, the same color as his very favorite Strawberry Shortcake doll from childhood. 

James’s eyes narrow slightly as he nods curtly, “Sir.”

“John, please.” 

James stares straight at him, his face emotionless, “Sir.” He says once more, this time a bit slower, his meaning clear, John is an assignment, not a person. John nods and steps back, message received.

John sighs as he watches James fall back to the furthest door with his team, they surround him as he speaks, their respect for him and his authority absolute. Jack bumps his shoulder against John’s and motions him to the desk

John drops into his chair and spins it several times, “Where the hell did you pull them from?” 

“Seals.” Jack props his feet up on John’s desk.

“They don’t want to be here.” John says. 

“We own them, they’ll be wherever we tell them to be.”

John flicks a pen at Jack, “We don’t own people, Jack.” He can’t keep his eyes from straying across the room. James’s back is to him and he doesn’t fail to notice the breadth of James’s shoulders. When he looks back to Jack, there’s a smirk on Jack’s face. Jack looks at his watch and jumps, “Shit, I have a meeting with Anne and if I’m so much as three minutes late she’ll have my balls in a sling.”

John laughs and shouts at Jack’s retreating back, “And you’ll love every second of it.” To which John gets the middle finger.

His eyes immediately go back to James as he gives his men final instructions before they disperse. James stands at attention just to the left of the door, his hands clasped behind him, his eyes alert and pointed straight ahead. If it weren’t for the barely visible signs of him breathing, he could easily pass for a statue. John wonders what it would take for him to get underneath that very cool and very calm exterior. James is without a doubt the most attractive man that John has encountered in a very long time. It’s been months since John’s gone out with someone and even longer since he’s taken anyone to bed. John sighs a final time and opens the first folder on his desk, it’s a briefing from the security council. It takes some doing, but eventually John forgets that he’s not alone and he gets lost in the memo in front of him. 

It’s short lived however as the disturbing images from earlier flash behind his eyes every time he blinks. John spends an hour trying to focus until he gives up and slumps in his chair, head in his hands, pressure weighing down on him like a thousand pound sack. It shouldn’t bother him, but the thought that someone within his inner circle hates him so much is distressing. It has to be someone who knows him personally doesn’t it? How else could his blood have found its way onto the letter. It must be someone who knows that the Service goes over every single letter, every single threat with a fine tooth comb. Whoever had sent them must have known that it would eventually get back to John. Whoever it is wants John to be scared.

He stands up and paces to the window. Looking out over the lawn he tries to figure out exactly how he’s supposed to go about his day knowing someone on his staff, someone he trusts, actively wants him dead. John wraps his arms around himself trying to fight off the feeling of helplessness. He hears James shift behind him, a softly clearing throat.

“It’s been my experience, that the type of person perpetrating these kinds of deeds are looking for one thing. Disruption.” John turns to face James, their eyes meeting across the room. “They want to scare you into changing who you are, or what you stand for, or even your day to day life. If you let them force you into hiding, into changing, they win. I’m not going to let them win, Sir, you shouldn’t either.”

James’s voice is soft, but determined, his eyes don’t waver from John’s and John can practically feel the strength behind the words. John swallows thickly before nodding, “Thank you.” Before John can say more, Muldoon comes to get him for a meeting with the minority whip.

Hours later John is giving James the full tour of the residence. James’s eyes skate from corner to corner of every room, most people would probably find it creepy, John finds it oddly comforting. He shows James to the room across the hall from his and James sets his bags down before striding across to clear John’s bedroom. James checks every door, window, closet, under the bed, and even the shower before declaring it safe. 

James is thorough and precise, utterly professional and John is half hard just watching him. “Sleep well, Sir.” James closes the door behind himself as he exits.

John showers and changes into a loose pair of sleep pants before settling into bed with a stack of letters to sign. He reads each one carefully making sure to say the names out loud. It’s the least he can do for the men and women who give their lives in service of their country. He sets the finished stack back in his briefcase and he’s still no closer to sleep than he was an hour before. 

Hungry and thirsty and unable to sleep John heads downstairs to the kitchen. He’s surprised to see James standing in front of the open refrigerator peering inside. He’s dressed similarly to John, flannel sleep pants, fitted blank tank, his hair mussed. His shoulders are broad and peppered with dense freckles, his torso tapers down to a narrow waist, only to flare again slightly at his hips. His bare biceps are hard and muscled. The wings of his shoulder blades move smoothly as he reaches into the refrigerator for mustard, John’s mouth nearly waters at the thought of getting his mouth on James’s back, scraping his teeth along the pale skin. The swell of James’s ass draws his attention as his eyes slide down James’s spine, the soft material clings to the exact shape and size of James’s beautifully rounded behind, the fabric falls perfectly into the crease of his ass and John has to wonder if James is wearing anything under his pants.

Without thought John moves forward his hand outstretched, he traces his fingers over James’s left shoulder. James turns lightening fast and before John knows it he has John’s arm wrenched painfully behind his back their bodies pressed flush, his face hard, eyes narrowed before John sees recognition slide across his features. John’s breath is shallow, his nerves suddenly on edge, the hair on his arms standing up as his heart races in his chest, his eyes are caught by James’s gaze as it traces his face. James fingers start to loosen on his wrist as his eyes flick down to John’s mouth, his own mouth parting, tongue flicking out. James flattens his other hand against John’s side, his fingers gripping gently, moving down to stroke over John’s hip. John arches his back, his free hand skating along James’s bicep, his body sliding along James’s and there’s a flare in James’s eyes but it gone just as fast. With the same quickness John is being released. Teetering on his feet he reaches out for the counter to steady himself. James’s body had been warm and hard where it had been pressed against him, and John feels a shiver go through him at the loss of James’s body heat. 

“Shit, I’m going to need to put a bell on you.” James half laughs, fingers running through his hair. John sees the tremor in his hand, sees the way James has to swallow hard as he takes a step back.

John smiles, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have...”John trails off and motions between them. 

James nods and waves him off, “Couldn’t sleep?”

“I think insomnia comes with the job.” John leans against the counter and watches as James makes a sandwich, “You’re still active duty I assume?” John tries desperately to keep his eyes above James’s neck, but the second James looks down to put his sandwich together, John’s eyes trail down the front of James’s body. The tank he’s wearing is tight, showing off well defined pecs and a flat stomach, his pants ride low on lean hips, the flannel creates a pronounced bulge between his thighs, outlining a thick cock that nearly makes John whimper. John licks his bottom lip thinking about how James would feel in his mouth and when he looks back to James’s face, he’s watching John, one brow arched perfectly as he chews slowly. 

John feels his cheeks heat at being caught. He starts to apologize but James holds his hand up, “Don’t apologize when you’re not actually sorry. I appreciate the compliment, but that’s going to be a no go, clear?

James is so completely matter of fact about it that John can only nod. James puts his sandwich on a plate and leaves John to his own thoughts. John doesn’t think he’s ever been rejected quite so thoroughly and succinctly before. He’s half in awe and half in shock.

***

John spends most of his days under the watchful eyes of James and Muldoon. James because it’s his job and Muldoon because he can’t help himself. He feels responsible for John for some reason that John has yet to figure out. They’d tried to make a go of it once, but they just weren’t compatible. Physically they had been explosive, the sex had been incredible, but they disagreed on so many levels about the most basic things that they’d both known it would be no use. Occasionally if neither of them are seeing someone and the urge strikes they’re not above having a go, but that’s all it is and they both know it. 

Over the past month that James has been with them, John has found himself flirting with Muldoon nearly every day, innocently for the most part and almost always in James’s presence. If John were to take a closer look at his motives he’d probably be none to proud of himself, but he won’t deny that he doesn’t mind the reaction it seems to be eliciting from James. John doesn’t miss the annoyance in James’s face every time Muldoon enters the room. He enjoys the way James’s jaw tightens and the way his back goes ramrod straight, nor does he miss the way James eyes follow them. John thinks maybe James is more interested than he lets on. 

Muldoon breezes through the door with a black garment bag over his shoulder, “Last fitting before tonight. Thomas is on his way with the last draft of the speech, Miranda has the press room prepped and ready to go.” Muldoon unzips the bag and hands the hanger to John before saying, “You should see her fucking dress. God damn she’s a picture.”

John has seen it, on the hanger and on the woman herself and he has to agree, she’s a knockout. If she wasn’t already happily married he’d have fired her so he could have dated her. But then he’d be short a press secretary and a speech writer, “She’ll probably upstage me.”

“Oh, she’ll definitely upstage you.” Thomas’s voice filters in through the crack in the door as John crosses the threshold to the en suite. Thomas and Miranda were already married when John had hired them, and most days John thinks she’d make a better president than him. She’s more level headed than he has ever been and without a doubt the most eloquent person he’s ever met. Between the words that Thomas can put down on paper and the way in which Miranda could deliver them, John figures they’d probably be able to achieve world peace within a year.

He hears the soft murmur of voices and then a sharp bark of laughter that he knows is James. John tries not to grind his teeth. Thomas is the only one who can ever get a reaction from James and John tries desperately not to be jealous as he pulls his pants on. They fit like a second skin, the material molding over his ass. The crisp white shirt is tailored perfectly to his lean frame, the jacket hugs his shoulders and waist creating a crisp silhouette that John is more than happy with. He steps out barefoot without the jacket and spins in a slow circle. Muldoon whistles, “Christ, your ass looks amazing.” Muldoon walks around him, his hands plucking at material and then John feels the soft sweep of Muldoon’s hands over his ass. John squeaks as Muldoon squeezes lightly, John’s eyes cut over to James. His lips are pressed into a hard line and there’s a tick in the left side of his jaw, he refuses to look over at John. 

“Still not as good as Miranda's, but you give her a run for her money.” Thomas swats him on the ass as he walks past to lay the speech on his desk, “Check the last paragraph, I added a few anecdotes that you may want to scratch, just let me know.”

John looks over his shoulder at Muldoon and Thomas, smiling wickedly as he pops his hip out, his eyes stray once again to James and the other man’s gaze is definitely pointed below John’s wasit as his tongue flicks out to wet his bottom lip. James jerks his eyes up and their gazes meet briefly before James is staring straight ahead once again. Thomas and Muldoon share a look before they both wag their eyebrows at John, John bites his lip to keep from laughing. Muldoon rushes the suit for a final press while John reads the latest changes to his speech before signing off and sending Thomas on his way. John checks the clock, four hours until the correspondents dinner.

***

Three raps on his door signal James’s arrival and although John isn’t finished dressing he opens the door anyway. He’s in just his pants and socks, his dress shirt hanging open, a highball glass with a fingers worth of scotch in his right hand as he waves James through.

James hesitates, his eyes quickly scanning John’s frame before snapping his gaze forward, “I can wait out here until you’re ready.”

John just shrugs but leaves the door standing wide open as he makes his way across the room to stand in front of his three way mirror. He sets the glass on his dresser and starts doing up the buttons on his shirt, “I hate black tie.” He finds James’s gaze in the mirror as he opens his pants and lowers them to mid thigh to tuck his shirt in. He starts with the back, slowing drawing his pants up and then sweeping the shirt in, smoothing it down, running his hands over his ass. He can just make out the way James’s eyes drift down his torso as John pulls one side of his pants wide. He sees James’s chest expand with a deep breath as John slowly slides his hand inside his pants to smooth his shirt down over the front of his body, his fingertips just barely graze his cock and John lets his eyes flutter at the barely there touch. He brushes over his cock several times, cups himself in his palm just before zipping and buttoning up, he’s half hard and completely ruining the line of his pants. He starts working on the bowtie and he can feel James’s eyes on him, John doesn’t look at him again, but John knows he’s watching.

After ten minutes of fighting with the tie he hears James’s soft footfalls moving across the carpet. He turns John by the shoulders and takes the tie from his fingers. He’s so close John can smell him, his knees turn to rubber and his mouth goes dry at the clean cedar scent of him. He flicks his eyes up and James’s face is right next to his, his eyes cast down as he positions the tie around John’s neck. He feels the soft flutter of James’s breath ghosting across his cheek at the exact moment that James’s fingers brush his neck and John has to bite his tongue to keep from moaning out loud. James’s body is radiating heat and John swears it’s seeping into his very soul. John’s breath hitches as James’s knuckles brush under his chin, his stomach drops and arousal curls through him slowly. James is right there, hard body, rugged face, beautiful eyes and John _wants_ him. John feels his eyes slip closed, his mouth parts on a puff of breath and he feels himself sway into James’s space.

James sucks in a sharp breath and John’s eyes pop open. John sees the heat reflected back at him before James can shutter it away again and John smiles at him, his hands coming up to rest on James’s hips. James’s hands still, as he watches John, his face masking everything he’s thinking. James looks back the tie, but John can feel his hands shaking, he can see the slight quickening of his breath. John pushes his luck, slides his hands under James’s jacket, around to his back, his fingers trailing up James’s spine. James swallows thickly, his lashes flutter briefly, his eyes still trained on the tie, he’s almost done and John only has a few more seconds. He drags his hands down to James’s ass, fingers squeezing. James steps back immediately, body going tense, his flight response kicking in. John’s arms fall back to his sides.

“We should be going, Sir. We’re already late.” James’s voice is rough edged, and at least a half an octave lower, John counts it as a win. 

John looks in the mirror to find a perfectly tied bow, “How does a seal learn to tie a bow tie?”

James’s face soften, his eyes going hazy with memory, “My grandfather. Said it was a skill every man should have, even if he never uses it.”

John swings his jacket up from the bed, “Good advise, the only thing I ever learned from my grandfather was how to shoot Tequila...like a man of course.” John barely manages to disguise the bitterness of his tone. James says nothing just follows John out the door.

Three hours later John is trying in vain to keep his eyes from straying to James every few minutes. John’s had just enough glasses of champagne to think he’s being covert only to have Jack elbow him repeatedly, “Stop ogling the head of your security detail, unless you want the Post to write an editorial about you being a lovesick cow.”

“How am I supposed to keep my eyes off a man who looks like that?” James’s pants are obscenely tight, even standing the material clings to his thighs, showing off how thickly muscled they are. John wants to sink his teeth in his skin, wants to purple them with bruises. He can just imagine how pale the skin is high up on his inner thigh, pale and sensitive and he wants to make James squirm, make him pant and beg. There’s a noticeable bulge that John absolutely cannot ignore. He can’t help looking again and again at what can only be a better than average cock. John won’t admit it out loud, but he’s always been a size queen and the promise of fat cock turns him on like crazy. His jacket is snug around his waist, the curve of it making John’s hands itch to touch, to finger James’s hips, his own legs ache with the desperate desire to wind around James’s body, to hold him tightly, to feel the indent of James’s hip bones on the insides of his thighs. He downs another two glasses of champagne hoping to slow his libido, it only makes things worse.

John sits through three hours of being roasted by the press, smiling and raising his glass, maybe a few too many times. By the time it’s all over, Muldoon is practically carrying him to the back entrance where James is waiting with the car. 

Before Muldoon hands him off, John turns to him, their bodies close, his voice low enough that James won’t be able to overhear, “You should come back to the residence with me.” He walks his fingers down the lapel of Muldoon’s jacket.

“That’s a bad idea, John.” Muldoon evades John’s curious fingers.

John presses his nose to the underneath of Muldoon’s ear, “Mmmm, and why is that? It’s always been good between us.”

Muldoon pries John’s hands from his body and sets him away, “I’m not who you really want, and I have no desire to be a stand in.”

He wants to disagree, but his eyes immediately flit over to where James is standing at the door, his posture rigid, his jaw clenched, eyes carefully averted, and he knows Muldoon is right. His shoulders slump, hands going to his pockets, “I’m sorry.”

Muldoon straightens John’s jacket and smiles at him, “You never need to apologize to me. If I thought it would help I’d be there in a second, but we both know it would only makes things worse.”

John nods and weaves his way over to James. When he reaches James he smiles and bats his eyelashes. James rolls his eyes and takes John by the arm and leads him to the car. By the time they get back to the residence John is half asleep, his head resting against the window. James prompts him to get out of the car but John is sluggish and his legs won’t work properly. 

James slings John’s arm over his shoulder and puts his own around John’s waist to help him into the house, by the time they reach John’s bedroom, he’s starting to get a little energy back. Before James can untangle himself, John turns toward him and slides both arms around James’s neck, his mouth opens against James’s throat. John feels James shiver against him as he licks along James’s jugular. John presses his body forward, he can feel James’s half hard cock where it presses against John’s hip. John bites at the underside of James’s jaw, his teeth scraping through the hair on James’s chin. James sucks in a breath his hands tightening on John’s hips briefly before setting him away and then taking John by the wrists to pull his hand away, “You’re drunk, Sir. I think it would be best if you went to bed and slept it off.” John’s good sense has fled, along with all of his inhibitions thanks to the multitude of drinks he’d had. He moves closer again despite James’s very cold body language, “Would you like to escort me to bed, James.”

John can practically hear James’s teeth grinding he’s gritting them so hard. John wants to lick the muscle that ticks in his jaw. The grip on his wrist tightens painfully but John barely notices, lost in a haze of unsatisfied lust.

“Are you always this much of a whore when you drink?” The sneer on James’s face makes John take a step back. He feels like he’s been doused with ice water. He pulls his wrist free and turns on his heel. He over balances and is headed toward the floor but two hands grab him around the waist and haul him upright. His back slams into James’s front and John can’t help but melt back against him with a sigh. He’s so warm and solid, a wall of strength that John wants to lose himself in, John turns quickly, buries his nose in James’s neck and then bites at the damp skin under his mouth. John doesn’t imagine the soft groan that filters down to his ears.

But once again James pushes him away and then propels him across the threshold of his room, one hand on his back the other holding his bicep, he plops John into bed and turns to go but John catches his sleeve and tugs. James is yanked off balance and he has to catch himself with a hand on the headboard and one on the bed, his face hovering over John’s. He cups James’s cheek in his palm, his thumb brushing just under James’s eye. He swears he sees something flicker in James’s eyes but it's there and gone so quickly that he can’t be sure. James pushes himself up and then he’s gone, John’s door closing softly behind him.

***

The next morning he motions James into his office hours before they have to leave, “I want to apologize for last night.” 

“Forgiven and forgotten, Sir.’

John sighs, sinks into his chair and rubs his pounding temples, “Please stop calling me Sir.” 

James says nothing but John hears him move away followed by complete silence. When he looks up James has left the room and John closes his eyes. It seems like no matter what he says or does it’s wrong. He’s perfectly aware that he was out of line last night and the harsh words James used to get him to back off were more than deserved, but they still sting in the bright light of day.

Ten minutes later James is back with a foaming glass and two Excedrin. 

“What is that.” John pokes as the frothy glass with his index finger. It’s the color of mud and looks just about as thick. 

“Navy hangover cure, drink it all in one go. You’ll be tip top in an hour.”

John eyes him warily, but tosses the pills back and picks up the glass. As soon as the smell of it hits his sinuses his body rebels but he keeps going. If dirty gym socks had a taste this would be it. John barely manages to keep from gagging as he chugs it down. He slams the glass onto his desk and wipes his mouth with the back his hand grimacing, “What the fuck is in that?”

“Military secret.” James smirks at him as he takes the glass and disappears again. He comes back with a plain glass of water, “Sip it slowly.”

Two hours later John feels like a human, the marching band in his head has gone, his body doesn’t ache and his brain isn’t foggy. He makes it through all four of his meetings without missing a beat.

Later as he and James are having a snack in the kitchen John shoots him a smile, “Thank you, for earlier. I’d have never made it through today feeling like I did this morning.”

James just shrugs and John sighs. Sometimes it feels like all he ever does is sigh. 

“Any leads?” John asks around a mouthful of pretzel.

“You know I can’t talk about that with you.”

"You can talk about it, you just won’t. It’s my _life_ , James.” Every time John asks, James thwarts him, telling John that he has it under control and that John doesn’t need to worry.

“And I’m going to protect it, that’s all you need to know.” James refills his glass from the pitcher on the counter, “How did the meeting with Eleanor go? Find a way to reduce the deficit?” James asks before sitting back down.

“I can’t talk about that with you.” John is unable to control the snottiness of his tone. He tosses his napkin into the trash and walks out of the room to the sound of James chuckling at him. 

***

It’s late on a Friday, a nor’easter blowing through promising three feet of snow by sunrise and John feels his own blanket of coldness settling in. He’s always loved the snow, but he hates feeling trapped in his own house. “Sir, I really wish you wouldn't stand in front of that window back lit the way you are.”

“Funny, because I really wish you’d stop calling me Sir. Guess we can’t have everything we want now can we.” John turns around and crosses his arms over his chest, “There’s a fucking blizzard James, even you couldn’t hit me at more than five feet in these conditions.”

James says nothing, just levels him with a look. John throws his arms up and moves away from the window, “Can we go for a drive?”

The look James gives him says _no_ , while also questioning John’s sanity, “You’re the one who declared a state of emergency and ordered everyone off the streets.” 

John huffs and paces across the room restlessly, “Fine.” John realizes he sounds as petulant as a two year old throwing a tantrum but he can’t seem to help himself, he hates being shut in.

When he turns back to James, James tosses a deck of cards at him and nods to the couch, “Spades?”

John smiles and scrambles to sit down on the floor, his back against the couch. James does the same on the other side, the glass coffee table between them. James shuffles and John can’t take his eyes off of James’s hands. His fingers are long, slender, the nails short and clean. It doesn’t take much for him to imagine what they’d look like wrapped around his cock. He handles the cards deftly, splitting and fanning them over and over before finally setting them between the two of them and motioning John to draw first.

John pulls the top card, ace of clubs and discards the second. They go through the deck until they each hold thirteen cards. John produces a pad of paper and pen, “What’s your bid?”

“Seven.”

“Seven? Well this will be interesting because I’m also bidding seven,” John scribbles on the paper, “and you, are getting set.”

A small smile creeps over James’s face, “We’ll see about that.”

James tosses out the ace of hearts and John throws off the two. James pulls two tricks and John trumps the third. When John throws out his ace of clubs James trumps it, “What the fuck, how do you not have any clubs?”

James shrugs, “Just don’t” 

John narrows his eyes, “I’m watching you, Flint.”

They play two rounds in which they each win one when James asks, “Where did you learn to play?”

“Undergrad. Back then you could still smoke indoors, and there were smoking lounges on the upper floors. I learned to play Euchre and Spades instead of going to my humanities block. What about you?”

“My first deployment to Somalia. We sat for weeks on end with nothing to do but jack off and play cards.” 

John chokes on his own spit, “Hopefully not at the same time.”

James smiles at him crookedly, a quick eyebrow raise, “Sometimes.”

John loses his next three turns thinking about James in the middle of a circle jerk. They lose power after round five and James goes in search of the candles and flashlights while John starts a fire and gets them snacks. By the time James gets back he’s got a lantern and four candles and John has the fire heating the room nicely. It doesn’t take long for the back up generator to kick in, but they decided to keep the fire going.

They pick up their game where they left off. The score goes back and forth for several more hands until it looks like James is going to win, “Wait, that’s your tenth sandbag.” John starts to deduct one hundred points from James’s score.

“The fuck it is. What kind of math are you doing over there?” James frowns at him, brows creased.

“The kind where you have ten sandbags and now you’re going back a hundred.” James grabs the notebook from John’s hands and starts looking through the figures, his nose scrunched up, John doesn’t think it should be that cute.

“I’m making hot chocolate, would you like some?”

James hums in agreement, still counting. 

John heats milk and and then dissolves the cocoa. He fills two mugs half full of cocoa and then pours bourbon over the top. He gets the bag of jumbo marshmallow from the cabinet over the fridge and makes his way back to the living room. 

John waits for James to take his first sip. He coughs and sputters, “Fuck sake is there any cocoa in there at all?” John just smiles at him over the rim of his own mug.

Four more rounds, and two more mugs of hot chocolate and James’s eyes are half mast and glassy. His plays are becoming sloppy and John calls the game. They sit on the floor, backs against opposite sofas facing one another.

“Why the Navy?” John asks, cup held between both hands as he blows across the top to cool it. 

“I love the sea, and the military was the fastest way to get out from under my family’s thumb.” James’s smile is crooked as he leans his head back against the couch cushion. He sinks down a little and stretches his legs all the way out under the table, his bare feet pop out on John’s side. John feels like screaming, even his feet are attractive, he is so fucked.

John frowns, “Rough home life?”

James shakes his head, “Not really. They just wanted something for me that I didn’t particularly want.”

“And what was that?” John watches him curiously.

“A wife.” Another wide smile, John is growing addicted. John laughs and nearly snorts his drink through his nose. 

James relaxes further, stretches his arms up, his body bowing with a soft groan. John takes a chance and lays his hand on James’s ankle, his thumb stroking softly over the bone. James says nothing, a content look on his face as he motions at John, “Why the Presidency?”

John smiles, “I wanted to make a difference.”

James cocks his head, “You are.”

John shakes his head and blows out a breath, “I’m not. I’ve been here almost two years and I haven’t gotten a single goddamn thing accomplished.”

James frowns at him, “That’s not true. I had the opportunity to turn down this assignment, we all did. Despite Jack’s tale to the contrary, none of us were forced to take this posting. We all took it because we wanted to. Because we believe in what you’re doing, what you stand for. We believe you can turn this country around. It’s already starting,” James is emphatic, “you’ve already given a face to millions of people who never had one before. That matters, even more than policy.”

John feels himself flush, his stomach fluttering at James’s praise. It’s the nicest thing James has said to him the entire time he’s been here. John doesn’t know what to say so he excuses himself to the bathroom to splash cold water on his face.

When he comes back, James has moved to sit on the couch, his body is relaxed, his head resting against the top, eyes closed. It’s the most unguarded John has ever seen him. John’s eyes sweep over James’s prone form taking in the square breadth of his shoulders, the thickness of his thighs, he’s such a beautifully put together man that John actually sighs with wistfulness. His breath is even and deep, and John wonders if he’s asleep. John makes his way across the room as quietly as possible, waiting until the very last second before making contact. 

Against his better judgment, he slides into James’s lap. By the time James comes half awake, John’s knees are pressed tight to either side of James’s hips. Their eyes catch and hold and James gives him a lopsided, dopey smile. He sighs John’s name, his gazes dropping to John’s mouth, his eyes hazy and still sleep heavy. His hand cups John’s face, his fingers sliding over John’s ears as he pulls John down into a soft kiss. John moans and presses his tongue into James’s mouth. James kisses him back slowly, exploring John’s mouth leisurely, their tongues tangling together until John shifts forward, his cock brushing against James’s. 

James snaps his head back and John sees awareness crash over him. James’s hands fit over his hips and then he’s being lifted and put to the side. 

“James…”

“No.” James says firmly as he gets up and leaves the room. John sits dejectedly staring into the dying orange flames of the fire. James comes back with a glass of water and two aspirin both of which he hands to John. John takes them dutifully and then James motions him up and all but marches him to his room. John feels like a child being punished, maybe he is. James closes the door firmly once John is safely inside. 

***

The next morning John corners him after breakfast, his hand in the middle of James’s chest. James’s looks down at John’s hand and then back to his face with an expectant look that clearly says remove your hand from my person. 

“You want me, I know you do, you kissed me last night.” John insists.

“I was mostly unconscious and you were a warm body. I’d have reacted the same to anyone.” James tries pushing past him, but John won’t budge.

“That’s such bullshit. You knew it was me. I’ve seen the way you look at me sometimes.”

“Whatever you need to tell yourself so you can sleep at night, Sir.”

John feels his mouth drop open, “Oh, fuck you.” John comes very close to slapping him, instead he storms back to his bedroom, complete with slamming doors. He spends the rest of the day ignoring James’s presence. Twice he lets the door close behind him right in James’s face. James says nothing, his facial expression never changing, his frustration, if he has any, never surfacing which only serves to make John angrier. 

John gives James the silent treatment for three more days until finally he can’t stand being in the house with James any longer now that the streets and sidewalks have been cleared. They’ve been cooped up for days, no escape, John taking meeting after meeting by phone, no one around but James and his stupid expressionless face. 

Normally John loves snow days, he loves the snow as a general rule. He loves the way the light reflects off the bright white turning the night sky as bright as the day. He loves the soft crunch under his feet, he loves the way the soft blanket turns everything quiet and serene. But right now he’s never been so happy to see plows at work. 

“I’m going for a run.”

The expression on James’s face would be comical if John wasn’t still so goddamn angry, “Running? You don’t run.” James says incredulously.

“Yes I do.”

James sighs, hands on his hips, “Six months, John, and you haven’t run a single fucking step.”

John freezes at the sound of his given name. It’s apparent by the look on James’s face that he doesn’t realize that he hadn’t called John, Sir. So it's not that James can’t do it, it's that he won’t, which annoys John twice as much.

He slams his feet into his running shoes, “Try to keep up will you.”

By the time they get back John is limping and James is barely sweating. He should have known better than to try an outpace a Navy Seal. John slinks off to his bedroom to lick his wounds.

The next morning when hot water hits the back of John’s left heel he cries out in pain. When he looks down he see a popped blister. He dresses it the best he can and when he slips his shoes on he has to bite his lip to keep from shouting at the pain that sears through his foot.

James takes one look at him limping and shoots a hand out to stop his progress, “What’s the matter?”

“It’s just a blister, it’ll be fine. I just need to get used to it being there.” John presses forward.

James gives him a sour looks and tries to lead him to a chair, “Let me see.”

“I said it’s fine.” John tries to push past him only to be picked up off his feet and plopped unceremoniously into a chair. John tries to pop right back up but James pushes him down with a single hand to the chest, “Stay.”

“I’m not a fucking dog.” John practically snarls.

“No, if you were you’d probably be better behaved.”

Before John can reply James is dropping to his knees and removing John’s shoe. John hisses as it slides against the open wound on his heel. He peels John’s sock down and then his bare foot is in James’s hands as he turns it sideways. John tries desperately to suppress the shiver that works it way down his spine at the gentle touch of James’s fingers. The fingers of Jame’s left hand gently circle his ankle as James lifts his foot high into the air to get a closer look at it. James inspects the wound carefully, “Why didn’t you say something last night?”

“I didn’t know about it last night. I didn’t feel it until this morning in the shower.” John sees the way James goes perfectly still for a single beat before rising to his feet.

“Stay here, please?” It’s a request, not an order and John nods shortly.

James comes back with a can of wound wash, some gauze, a pair of latex gloves and an odd looking bandage. He puts on the gloves and pokes at the skin and John barely refrains from jerking his foot back as a bolt of pain shoots up his calf. He douses the sore with antiseptic and pats it dry with the gauze before placing the bandage over it and smoothing it out with his fingers.

“What is that?” John asks.

“It’s a hydrocolloid bandage, specifically designed for blisters. It’ll heal faster and cause less pain in the interim.”

He hands John his sock and shoe back. Once John is back on his feet he can’t believe the difference. He doesn't feel it at all and he can walk normally with no pain.

John stops James with a hand on his arm, “Thank you.”

James nods, “I’m not the enemy,” He waits two beats and with a smirk adds, “Sir.” John barely refrains from swatting at him.


	2. Love in June

Just as they exit the theatre shots ring out. 

James takes him to the ground roughly, his larger body shielding John. John’s heart is in his throat, he can’t breathe, his vision is starting to white out and his chest is tight. He can hear James calling his name, but he can’t answer, his mouth is too dry and all he can do is shake his head, his eyes wide. James shouts the protocol numbers and then James is picking him up and tossing him into the back of the black SUV in front of them before following him in and covering his body once more. John feels the vehicle lurch forward and then they’re speeding away. 

This time James has him pinned face to face and John can see the panic in James’s eyes, “John. John, can you hear me?” John can only nod his head, his breath still too choppy for him to answer. James’s hands are roaming his body, under his jacket, down his legs, around his skull. Looking for injuries John assumes. John starts to shiver, his teeth chattering despite the unseasonably warm weather. His hands are cold even though he’s sweating through his clothes. He realizes this must be what panic is like.

James gets him up onto the seat and pulls John close to him, “You’re alright, everything is fine.” 

Suddenly John feels adrenaline spike and then he’s climbing into James’s lap, his hands holding James’s head steady as he sinks his tongue into James’s mouth. John expects to be shoved away, once again reprimanded for his whore like tendencies. Instead he hears James groan and then James’s arms go around his waist and he pulls John closer, his tongue flicking out to meet John’s. John hopes to god the partition is up because he absolutely is not stopping for anything short of nuclear war. 

His hands fist in James’s hair angling his head this way and that to make the kiss deeper. It’s wet and hot, and frantic, their tongues sliding together, licking and sucking at each other’s mouths. He yanks James’s head back, his teeth going for James’s throat. James’s hands slide over his ass and squeeze, pulling him closer. John rocks down, his cock rubbing against James’s. Fuck, he’s so hard, can’t even remember getting that way. James gasps followed by a deep guttural moan. James flips them sideways on the seat and then he’s pressing his body down, his hips rutting against John, his breath hot and panting out against John’s throat. 

John arches his back, presses closer to James, legs going over James’s hips, his hands fisted in the back of James’s shirt. James’s tongue licks across John’s neck, down his throat until he’s stopped by John’s shirt and bow tie. With a muted growl James yanks the tie loose and then tugs on John’s shirt. John hears a button ping off the thankfully closed partition before James is biting over his collarbone, sucking at his skin as his hips continue to roll down pushing John closer to the edge. 

With sudden clarity, John realizes he’s going to come in his pants, in the back of the presidential motorcade after an assassination attempt and there isn’t a single part of him that cares. Heat rushes through him, his vision going fuzzy once again, this time for an entirely different reason.

James’s mouth sucks at his neck, his chest before he kisses John again, his tongue wreaking havoc, making John whimper. His hips slide against John’s, pressing and grinding with the exact amount of pressure making John shudder violently as his orgasm rips through him. He yanks his mouth away from James and keens at the roof of the car, his body going rigid as his cock jerks in his pants. James bites down on his neck to muffle his own desperate sounds of pleasure, his hips jerking as he shakes apart. They’re both panting and breathless but somehow James manages to set their clothes right just as the car stops at the back of the Hyatt. 

James and the back up security rush John into the hotel from the back entrance and up the service elevator to the top floor. Once in his room James tries to leave but John isn’t having it, not now, not after what just happened, John isn’t nearly finished with him. He grabs James by the lapels and then strips them both quickly, his mouth latched onto one part of James or another to keep him from moving toward the door. Finally he gets them both in the shower, washes away the drying remnants of their first set of orgasms. He goes to his knees on the cold tile and makes James shake until he nearly collapses before dragging him to bed and getting James inside him. James fucks him like a man possessed, like he’s got one day left to live and this is it. Neither of them giving a single thought to the half a dozen agents milling around in the hallway trying desperately to ignore the sounds coming from behind the door ten feet away.

James puts John on his knees, ass up high and spread wide around James’s thick cock, John’s forehead pressed to the bed as he begs for _harder, and more and god, don’t ever stop_. John loves the sting of James’s teeth in his shoulder, he loves the scrape of James’s short nails over his hips, he loves the finger shaped bruises on his thighs. He loves the way James fucks him fiercely, hard and demanding, giving no quarter, making John come so hard he nearly passes out.

The next morning John wakes up sore and satisfied and completely alone. The room has been scrubbed clean of James’s presence, including the two used condoms that should be in the trash can. When he looks out the peephole of his room he sees the back of Charles’s head. John throws a crystal vase across the room watching it shatter into a thousand glittering pieces. 

There’s a tentative knock on the door followed by Charles’s voice, “Sir?”

John sighs before opening the door, “I’m fine. Can you have someone bring me a change of clothes.”

“Right away, Sir.” Charles’s eyes stray to John’s neck, no doubt seeing the red marks James’s teeth had left behind. 

Against his better judgement John asks, “Did James leave a message?”

Charles won’t look at him when he shakes his head. John closes the door softly and goes to take a shower. 

Hours later James stands in front of John’s desk, his arms behind his back his eyes focused over John’s left shoulder. He clears his throat, “I’m trading places with Charles. I’ll still be head of the investigation, but Charles will take over the protection detail.”

John feels himself blanche, “Why?”

“I’m compromised.”

John blows out a breath, “You saved my life. I trust you, James, I don’t want--”

James cuts him off, “It’s already been decided. And this decision is mine alone.” James finally looks at him, his eyes hard, “All due respect, Sir, you don’t get any input.”

“Will you stop with the fucking Sir already. Jesus christ. Yesterday we…” John trails off. He watches James swallow, a minute tick at the corner of his eye that John wants to soothe away. He walks around to the front of his desk and stands in front James. When he reaches out, James takes a step back. 

John lets his hand drop, “I won’t see you once you switch will I?”

“No.”

John feels an ache start in his chest. They’ve spent the last eight months practically in each other’s pockets and John has grown rather attached to James Flint.

Just as James turns to go John has to ask, “James, did you want me at all? Or was it just a convenient way to work off the adrenaline?”

James turns back slowly, his eyes raking over John from head to toe, “There’s not a goddamn thing that’s convenient about you, John.”

John doesn’t know what to say. He’d like nothing more than to march across the room and tackle James to the ground, but he sees the wariness in James’s posture so he stays where he is. This time when James turns to go, John doesn’t stop him. 

***

John comes out of his study just in time to see Charles and James finishing up their briefing. Normally John would have already been upstairs, but late night budget negotiations had kept him at his desk. James is telling Charles what looks to be a doozy of a story, complete with hand gestures and the crinkle eyed smile that has never been pointed in John’s direction, instead of interrupting, he leans against the door frame and watches silently, hungry for the sight of James.

For all he likes to think that he and James had hardly interacted he knows better now. Since James’s departure from his every day life last month, his days have been filled with so much more silence, so much less excitement. He misses seeing James digging in the refrigerator, he misses listening to James curse the Keurig. There are so many small interactions that John can recall now. Small glimpses of himself that James had shown to him. He’s sure now that James had never been completely indifferent to him and that John’s continual perusal had pushed him too far. Their night together had been more than James could handle. John has never regretted something more in his life. He thinks that maybe he and James could have been friends, in different circumstances he knows they could have been so much more.

James finishes his story and Charles is nearly bent in half laughing which is when James spots him. He freezes immediately, his spine going rigid as his eyes meet John’s. Charles must feel the shift in the air because he looks over at John too, but his posture remains relaxed. John pushes himself off the door frame, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt, I was just going up for the night.”

John approaches slowly and while his words were meant for both he can’t take his gaze from James the closer he gets. There are circles under his eyes and his face is more pale than usual, evidence of sleepless nights and John wants to apologize, certain it’s somehow his fault. He forces himself to walk past them, a simple, “Goodnight, Charles, goodnight, James.” He has to curl his hands into fists to keep from reaching out for James.

“See you in the morning, John.”

“Sleep well, sir.”

John sighs and continues up the stairs. He hears Charles’s softly hissed, “Why do you do that?”

“What? Show respect to the office?”

John stops at the top of the stairs just around the corner, out of sight but not out of earshot.

“Don’t be an asshole,” Charles pauses and John can hear the hesitation in Charles’s tone, “He’s been different since the switch, I think he’s lonely.”

James says nothing. John hurries to his own room as he hears Charles start up the stairs.

***

They catch Dufresne a week later at the post office trying to mail another threat.

Hours later as James is briefing John, John can barely believe it. Dufresne had been a peripheral member of his staff since the inauguration, and had apparently taken issue with John’s sexuality. Just as James is about to exit the Oval office with the rest of his men John stops him, “James, may I have a word privately, please?”

Once the door is closed John shuffles in place, his hands stuffed into his pockets, he can feel his cheeks heating under James’s close scrutiny, “I just want to say thank you. For saving my life, for catching Dufresne, for putting up with my insufferable behavior. And I’m sorry for...well, I’m sorry.”

James stares at him from across the room, his face unreadable and just as the silence begins to edge into uncomfortable James moves toward him with long, sure strides, pushing into John’s space until they’re toe to toe and nearly touching. John’s entire body comes alive, his hair standing on end, goosebumps covering his arms, his breath catches as James’s eyes search his face. Without warning his hands cradle John’s head, his fingers thread into John’s hair and then he’s devouring John’s mouth, his tongue licking its way inside.

John gasps into the kiss, his mouth opening around James’s tongue, his arms going around James’s waist, his hands fisting in James’s shirt. He goes up on his toes, their bodies connecting. James walks him backward until his back hits the bookshelf. John has never been kissed so thoroughly in his entire life. His whole body sings, his heart is pounding in his ears. James’s tongue twists around his, licks at his teeth. He sucks at John’s upper lip, his teeth scraping against the skin. John’s nails dig into James’s back and James moans, his body pressing impossibly closer as he trails his tongue down John’s neck. He bites behind John’s ear before soothing it with his tongue. John rubs himself against James, a full body shudder working it’s way down his spine at the delicious friction. He arches his back, presses himself closer as James sucks at his throat. 

But then it’s over just as quickly as it began. James putting space between their bodies, his lips pressed to John’s ear, his voice hoarse as he says, “Take care of yourself, Mr. President.”

John is too stunned to reply, panting and dizzy and frozen to the spot as he watches James walk out of his life.

***

John waits three weeks for the hullabaloo of Dufresne’s arrest to die down before he reaches out to find where James is currently stationed. There’s no chance John is going to let their last encounter stand as is. 

When John rolls down his window at the Naval Special Warfare Training Center in Coronado, the Sergeant in the booth scrambles to his feet, and salutes. John takes a quick look at his name and then smiles at him, “Put your hand down Sergeant Herford. Can you tell me where Chief Warrant Officer James Flint is at this precise moment?”

“Pool Sir, training exercises.”

“Thank you. Sergeant. Have a good day.”

“Yes, Sir. You too, Sir.”

John’s SUV pulls up in front of the aquatic center and standing at the outdoor pool are roughly a dozen recruits being put through the beginning paces in the first stage of dive school. Two instructors stand poolside, and John spots James in the water. He takes a few minutes to center himself before opening the back door. He’s immediately flanked by two of his agents.

“Gentlemen, there are currently twelve thousand military personnel on this Naval base, I’m fairly certain I’ll be perfectly safe without an escort.” 

John makes his way around the building to the entrance. He’s greeted by an immense amount of shuffling and saluting before he gets to the door to the outside pool deck. Once there he asks the closest officer if they would mind getting James out of the pool. The officer leans down to talk to James and then James’s head whips around, his eyes narrowing as he looks in John’s direction. He can see James sigh from where he stands. Well, it’s good to know James isn’t going to make this easy then.

James plants his hands on the side of the pool and raises himself like some kind of water god and John’s breath catches in his throat. Water sluices off of James’s body as he swings himself over the side and to his feet in one amazingly, fluid, graceful movement. Good god damn he is fucking gorgeous, is all John can think. The sun glances off his hair turning it gold as drops of water continue to slide down James’s body in rivulets. He turns toward John, grabs a towel from the stack and rubs it over his head, his pecs shaking with the movement and John actually whimpers. John is instantly reminded of Phoebe Cates’s pool scene in _Fast Time at Ridgemont High_ and his stomach flips over now, the same as it had then. John tries not to stare at James’s magnificent body as he marches toward John, a sour look on his face. When he stops in front of John, hands on his hips, it takes all of John’s willpower not to throw himself bodily at James. Instead he smiles and tilts his head to the side, “Hi.”

James rolls his eyes and takes John by the elbow ushering him out of the pool area. If anyone is concerned with the way James is manhandling the President of the United States, no one seems inclined to do anything about it, which suits John just fine.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” James hisses as he hustles John across the pool deck and into the locker room before letting him go.

“You’re no longer on my security detail.” John can feel himself smile, all teeth and eyes. 

“Yes, and.” James crosses his arms over his chest and it does absolutely nothing to dissuade John. His arms are huge, packed with muscle, covered in a fine layer of blond hair and the most delicious freckles John has ever seen. John jerks his eyes back up to James’s face.

“Well, I thought now that you’re no longer working directly for me, that we could, you know...” John waves his hands between them.

“We could what? Ride off into the sunset? Fuck’s sake, John that’s not even remotely possible.”

The only thing John hears is his name, not sir, not Mr. President, John. He can feel giddiness creeping in. He steps closer and James steps back, a caged looked on his face. “Why, exactly are we not possible?”

“Starting with you being the President and ending with me being active duty?”

“I see. Are men that are active duty not allowed to have relationships? Because you see as the the unmarried President of these United States, I am most certainly allowed to have a relationship. In fact, I’ve actually been _encouraged_ to have one.”

“That’s not what I mean.” Exasperation is clear in James’s tone.

John runs his finger down James’s forearm, their eyes catch and hold and as much as James would like to pretend he’s unaffected, John sees a flare of interest before it's quickly tamped down. James moves his arms behind his back before speaking again, “You are absolutely infuriating. Will you ever learn to take no for an answer?”

John feels hope swell inside him as James’s eyes drop to John’s mouth, his pupils enlarging as John licks his bottom lip. In all the words that James has said since they’ve entered this locker room, not a single one was, _I don’t want you_.

“Why are you smiling at me like that?” James asks nervously.

John takes another step closer, this one bringing them nearly into contact, and James has nowhere left to go. At this point he’d have to step around John and over a bench to evade him further, “Because infuriating is a very strong emotion.” John reaches out and puts his hand in the middle of James’s bare abdomen. He feels the muscles quiver under his touch, he hears the sharp intake of breath, and when he looks up, James’s eyes are hot and dark. John swallows thickly and moves his hand slowly up James’s stomach, up his chest, over his shoulder until his fingers are cradling James’s skull. With the barest hint of pressure he pulls James’s head down until their lips are only millimeters apart. He can feel James’s breath fan out over his cheek and it makes him shiver before whispering, “Kiss me.”

John leaves it up to James, if he truly doesn’t want John, John will walk away, but John doesn’t believe that’s true. Each second he waits feels like an eternity. James’s head dips a little further, his nose brushing John’s cheek. John can no longer see the look in James’s eyes now that they’re so close, but he can feel the tremor that runs through James’s body. Five more seconds tick by as they breath each other in and then the barest hint of skin on skin. John shivers again, still waiting, barely refrains from begging, and then he hears James break with a deep subvocal groan before James’s lips are pressed against his, his tongue already seeking entrance. 

John goes up on his toes, wraps his whole body around James, puts everything he has into the kiss. James’s arms come around his waist, bringing them into contact and James shudders against him. The kiss is feral, teeth and lips and tongue and so much pent up longing that John is ready now, wants James to have him now, right here and to hell with the twenty or so seals out on the pool deck. He needs James, he needs to feel him. 

He starts to push James’s trunks down and James pulls away, “Not here.” James sets him away, puts some space between them.

“Yes, here, now.” John pants, his fingers working the buttons on his shirt. James stops him and John whines.

James pulls him close again, stilling his movements, “So needy.” There’s no heat in the words as James licks at the skin under his ear. John shudders, moans at the fire raging through him. James shoves a hand down the back of John’s pants, gets his fingers under John’s briefs, his middle finger slipping over John’s hole. John spreads his legs, pushes back into the touch, moans harshly as the tip of James’s finger breaches him, “Yes. Please, James, please.”

John’s breath hitches as he rubs his cock against James’s hip, his mouth sucking at James’s skin. 

“You can wait until tonight.” James mouths over John’s adam apples, his teeth raking down the center of John’s throat, his finger pressing in and then out carefully, slowly.

John shakes his head frantically, makes a frustrated noise, “I can’t, I have a flight back in two hours. I have the French President tomorrow.”

James laughs and John really wants to smack him. 

“I have leave in a week. I’ll come to DC.”

“A week?”

“Stop whining, it’s unbecoming of a President.” James squeezes both of John’s ass cheeks before pulling his hands free. James kisses him slowly, his mouth working against John’s, his tongue stroking the roof of John’s mouth. He kisses John so thoroughly that by the time James releases him John is lightheaded and unsteady on his feet. He places one more small kiss on John’s cheek before stepping away with a light slap to John’s ass, “I’ll see you in a week.”

Before he’s completely out of sight John can’t stop himself from asking, “Promise me you’ll be there.”

James winks at him, “I promise, Mr. President.”

***

Two days later John starts texting James.

_How long is your leave?_

_Why?_

_Answer the question._

_Is that a direct order, Sir?_

_If it has to be._

_Twenty eight days._

_Thank you._

John looks up to his chief of staff, “Muldoon, clear my schedule from Sunday through October 15th.”

“I can’t clear your schedule for a fucking month. That’s not how this works.”

“Make it work.”

“Make it work he says.” Muldoon grumbles as he exits the oval office. Muldoon works one miracle after another and manages to reschedule all but three things. John tries to wait up for James Friday night but ends up falling asleep sitting up in bed. He vaguely remembers James coming in and pulling John into his arms. He thinks there might have been some sloppy half asleep kisses.

The next morning he wakes up with James’s naked body pressed to his back, his breath stirring the hair at the back of John’s neck. John presses back, James’s half hard cock is nestled between his ass cheeks and John practically purrs. 

James’s sleep rough voice rumbles in his ear, “Awake are you?”

John just hums, his hand reaching for James’s hip to pull him closer, his body already heating up as arousal churns through him. James presses open mouth kisses against his shoulder, his hips starting to slowly grind against John. John’s breath hitches, he presses himself backward wantonly.

James sweeps John’s hair off his neck, his nose pressed to the base of John’s skull, his mouth biting at the top knob of his spine, “I couldn’t stop thinking about that night in the hotel.” He pushes John to his stomach, his body hovering over John’s, kneeling between John’s own wide spread legs as he bites down John’s spine, “I couldn’t stop hearing the way you sounded.” Another bite just under his shoulder blade, “Couldn’t forget the way you felt wrapped around me.” He licks down the center of John’s spine and John shivers, moans into the pillow, “Never wanted anyone so much. The one man in the entire universe I couldn’t actually have, fit my cock like he was made for it.” John groans remembering the feel of James deep inside him, he’s desperate to have him again. James bites at his ass cheeks, sucking blood to the surface before flipping John over.

John is already panting, his cock aching and wet at the tip. James’s eyes rake down his body, his hands following the same trail, petting John with soft fingers. John sits up and reaches for James, draws him into a slick kiss, their tongues tangling, his body coming over John’s as John reclines back onto the bed. James rubs against him slowly, his cock sliding along side John’s. John arches, a needy moan echoing around them. James takes them both in his fist, strokes them slowly from base to tip, his grip tight and sure, his tongue fucking into John’s mouth in the same haze inducing rhythm. John is frantic, his hands shaking, his body trembling with need, he reaches across the bed, jerks open the drawer and finds the small tube inside. He thrusts it at James.

Drawing back from the kiss, James’s lips move down his jaw, along his neck, tongue swirling over the base of John’s throat, teeth nipping and pulling. John tilts his head back, arching his neck into James’s mouth. James set the lube aside, moves down John’s body, tongue sliding down the center of John’s chest, dipping into his belly button, licking the crease of John’s thigh. John arches under him, but James’s hands hold him to the bed forcing John to take what James’s give him. James sits on his heels between John’s spread legs slides his fingers slowly down John’s thighs, his nails catching on the sensitive skin making John hiss. Without warning James leans in and sucks John’s cock down in one smooth slide. John gasps, his hips jerking, his hands fisting in James’s hair, “Fucking Christ, James.” His cock is so hard, aching and pulsing inside James’s mouth as his tongue licks over the head.

Bobbing his head slowly, his tongue swirling, working around the tip and then back down, James reaches for the tube. He rubs over John’s hole with slick fingers, John moans, his hands tightening in James’s hair. James moves faster, one finger finding its way inside, John’s legs spreading wider in invitation. James rubs along the inside of John’s body, petting him. John pushes back for more greedy in a way he can’t ever remember being. James grips the back of John’s thighs, pushes them high as he moves futher down, his tongue creating a wet trail across John’s balls, licking lower. The flat of James’s tongue licks over him, John’s hips twist and push, his body quaking as pleasure slices through him. He cries out, tries to rock down against James’s mouth but he has no leverage with his legs held in the air. James tastes him with wide, sweeping strokes right up the center of him, each touch making him shiver and gasp. 

Sweat is beading at his hairline, his whole body is hot, blood rushing through his veins likes fire as James corkscrews his tongue into John’s body. John cries out, fingers twisting in James’s hair, trying to bring him closer, trying to fuck himself on James’s tongue. James rears up, two slick fingers taking the place of his tongue, wiping his face with his other hand, James hovers over him, working John open quickly, stretching him wide, more lube, another finger. John has his feet planted on the mattress working his hips against James’s hand, fucking himself on James’s fingers, “Now, god, James I can’t wait anymore.”

James shuffles up, his cock nuding at John’s hole, hot velvet feel of James’s cock head pushing in and John arches up with a broken moan as James pushes in. Sweet pressure filling him slowly, inch by inch stealing John’s every breath until James is all the way, bodies flush, sweat mingling, James’s breath in his ear, ghosting down his neck. James shudders and John holds him tightly, legs and arms going around James, keeping him close, clenches down on James’s cock. James gasps, his hips jutting forward, sinking deeper, both of them groaning.

Pulling back with a quick twist of his hips, James shoves forward, drives deep right over that sweet spot and John cries out, hands clawing at James’s back. John arches, meeting him thrust for thrust, the rhythm fast and hard, bodies coming together loudly. James’s hand slides along the outside of his thigh, lifting his leg, pushing deeper still. John loses his sense of time, body shivering non stop, James’s cock so hot and thick inside him and John has never felt so full, it’s so fucking perfect that John wants to cry.

James fucks him up the bed, hips slamming home hard, wraps his fist around John’s cock and John nearly screams as the palm of James’s hand skates over his sensitive cock head, he’s so close already. James squeezes him between two fingers, pulling his foreskin back and forward quickly. James thrust in hard, hips grinding, pushing, filling John to the brim. John feels the pressure building in his chest, churning in his stomach, his balls going tight and hot, the tips of fingers tingling, everything dims, the buzz in his brain getting louder, his body shaking, one gasping moan of James’s name and then he’s coming hard and thick across James’s hand, streaks of it landing up his chest, his stomach convulsing, legs locking, body rigid for long seconds before going boneless, melting back into the bed, pulling James’s down with him, mouth seeking. James kisses him roughly, breath panting out against John’s cheek as his hips piston fast.

Mouthing down James’s neck John sinks his teeth into James’s jugular, sucks hard, hears James shout, his cock slamming home hard and deep. John feels the pulse of it inside, feels himself get slicker. He wraps his legs around James’s hips, squeezes down and James chokes on a breath, a dark moan pressed to the side of John’s head. John hums with contentment as James empties himself.

James slides off to the side and pulls John into him. They trade lazy kisses back and forth until John’s eyes get too heavy to stay open.

***

It doesn’t take long for the press to pick up on James’s frequent visits to the White House. He spends his weekend furloughs in DC and more than once he’s had to be rushed from DC to Coronado for one mission or another. They get two months of peace before people start asking questions about the President’s constant companion. It escapes no one’s notice that James had been part of the detail that had captured John’s attempted assassin. 

John watches Miranda in the press room from his office as she fields questions about James.

“Does his renewed presence mean there have been new attempts on the President’s life?”

“No, there have been no new or increased threats to the President.” Miranda looks to her left, “Jay, go ahead.”

“It’s the same man though, correct? He was part of the President’s detail, he’s the same man who covered the President and saved his life during the assassination attempt?”

“Yes, it’s the same individual.”

“They’ve been seen out to dinner together several times, is their relationship now personal?”

“The President is allowed to have friends, Shane, would you like me question you about every person you take a meal with.” She’s met with silence, “Does anyone have a question about the budget.”

John flicks off the closed circuit TV and turns to stare out the window. He doesn’t know how much longer they’ll remain civil.

Much to Miranda’s exasperation, the press room turns into a circus after John and James are spotted out at dinner sitting much closer than friends should, and with James’s hand planted high up on the inside of John’s thigh. It was captured by a student who happened to be in the right place at the right time and who had sent it to the Post before contacting anyone else. Miranda ignores the questions as best she can during the next press conference.

“Is the President in a romantic relationship with the former head of his security?”

Miranda dances expertly around the question, “The head of the President’s security team is now and always has been, Hal Gates, and no, they are not in a romantic relationship, much to the relief of Mrs. Gates.”

Everyone in the room groans, someone calling out, “Come on, Miranda, you know that wasn’t the question.”

Once out of the press room she corners John, “I can’t hold them off much longer.” John bites his lip, not sure what to say, “If you want them to back off, tell him to stop pawing at you in public.” 

“What should I do?”

“You have two options, John. Continue to hide it, _be better_ at hiding it, or make a statement. If you and James are serious about one another, make a statement sooner rather than later. The Easter Egg Roll is two weeks away, he could come, be by your side, we could do a corresponding photo op, I could have Thomas write a blurb to go along with a picture.”

“I’ll talk to him about it.” She squeezes him arm before walking away.

Hours later during their evening phone call John tells James that Miranda is getting hammered in the press room everyday about them.

“It’s her job to field those questions isn’t it?”

“Yes, but it’s becoming increasingly obvious that people are catching on and every day it’s another reporter refusing to ask about anything else. Soon, the entire room will be filled with one question that she can’t answer and it will be a stand off. At that point, I don’t know what they’ll start writing.”

John has always tried not to push, he understands how hard this is for James. James hasn’t hidden his sexuality exactly, but he’s never been overly vocal either. A number of his superiors and some the men he serves with know his preferences, but if he allows his relationship with John to go public everyone will know and James worries that it will undermine his authority.

“The Easter Egg hunt is in two weeks, you could come be a part of it. We could have Thomas write a small mundane sentence, not an announcement exactly, but something that makes it clear what we are to each other.”

He’s met with more silence. John just barely refrains from sighing, “Or not.” John tries to modulate his voice, keeps the disappointment at bay, “I’ve got breakfast with the Prime Minister of Israel tomorrow, so I’m going to turn in, I’ll see you Friday?”

“Yeah, of course. Sleep well.” James disconnects before John can say anything else. It’s a long sleepless night. On Thursday James calls to say there’s been a change in plans, he won’t be able to make it Friday after all, they’re flying out in a few hours and he won’t be back until midweek. 

John wants to believe him, wants to trust him, but James has been noticeably distance during the last few days and John knows exactly why. He figures this is the beginning of the end. John tries to disengage his feelings, he’d been a fool to let himself believe that James would eventually come around to the idea of being out and open. James is career military, and John is currently too high profile to hide.

By the time Friday rolls around again he’s heard nothing from James and is frankly surprised that James would take the coward’s way out by just failing to contact John again. John has left several messages of his own, trying to keep them light hearted, but he fears that the attempts most likely fell flat. John hasn’t had the nerve to check but he has a feeling that if he did, he’d find out there was no mission taking James away last weekend. 

He spends Saturday going over the final preparations for the Easter Egg Roll scheduled to take place on Sunday. Miranda catches him to show him a copy of what Thomas had written, “We’ll get a picture of the two of you watching the kids on the lawn and attach this with it.”

_President Silver and his partner Chief Warrant Officer James Flint look on as White House families compete in the annual Easter Egg Roll._

John hands it back, his throat thick, “I don’t think we’ll need that. Next time someone in the press room asks, you can can answer that there’s nothing going on there, we were just friends.”

“John?” Miranda’s voice is curious and filled with concern, but John just shakes his head before walking away.

***

John stands in his mirror practicing his smile, trying to make it look less like a grimace, he doesn’t want to scare the kids after all. There’s a brief knock on his door, “Showtime.” John whispers to himself. Expecting Malcolm, John is stunned silent as he comes face to face with James in full dress whites.

John steps back and finds his voice, “What are you doing here?”

James steps through the door and closes it behind him, “I didn’t have a mission.”

John snorts, “Yeah, I kinda figured that out.” John feels anger welling up inside him for the first time. James shifts from one foot to another, his eyes flitting around the room and John can’t stand it any longer.

“If you’re going to break up with me just do it already.”

James’s head snaps back, his eyes finding John’s, “What?”

John crosses his arms over his chest, “If you’re here to end this, just get it over with, stop drawing it out, I’m a big boy, I can handle it.”

James half laughs, “That’s what you think I'm here for? In full dress?”

“You’ve been avoiding me for a week. I’ve left several messages that you haven’t returned. You just admitted you lied to get out of seeing me. What else would I think?” John shrugs and lets his arms drop to his sides. 

James opens his mouth but he’s interrupted by a knock on the door before it opens, this time it is Malcolm, “Time to go, Sir. We’re already late.”

John looks at James, and commits the image to memory, “Take care of yourself, James.” He whispers as he passes, his fingers brushing along James’s hand one last time.

James catches his arm and spins him back, “I’m in love with you.”

John stops dead, his head whipping around to stare wide eyed at James. In the background he hears Malcolm, “Well fuck. Be advised, we’re going to be _very_ late.”

James is almost breathless as he rushes on, “I’ve spent the past week running around to all of my superiors, all the way up the food chain. I wanted them all to hear it from me first, I didn’t want them to find out in the paper. I’m not breaking up with you, John. I’m ready to go public.”

John reaches out and closes the door in Malcolm’s face before pulling James into a heated kiss. He propels James backward until he hits the bench at the end of his bed and then he follows James down situating himself in James’s laps. He knocks James’s hat off his head and then starts in on the buttons on James’s coat. James keeps trying to stop him but each time he reaches for John’s hands John slaps him. John hears several sets of feet running down the hall and he laments the fact that he forgot to lock the door as Jacks busts in.

“Listen, John, I know that you’d much rather stay locked in here with your soldier--”

“Sailor.” John puts in.

“Warrant Officer, if you please.” James sounds as exasperated as Jack.

“Whatever. There are five hundred people on the front lawn, I am begging you, as your humble servant, as your Vice President, please do not go out there looking freshly fucked with an incredibly virile member of our armed forces attached to you arm. Please just walk out there like every other president with his fir--significant other.”

John looks at James, “I did come all this way to make a statement after all.”

John admits defeat, he picks James’s hat up off the floor and tells Jack, “Tell Miranda to go ahead with the photo op.”

The next morning John’s paper comes early, there’s a picture of him and James standing together, hand in hand watching as over a dozen children roll eggs across the front lawn plastered on the front page of the Post, the short blurb from Thomas printed below. 

*** _Epilogue...One year later_

James storms into John’s office, uncaring of who is currently occupying it and slams his hand down on John’s desk, “What the fuck have you done?”

Malcolm comes bustling in after James, “Sir, I’m sorry, I couldn’t stop him.”

John holds up his hand, “James has a free pass, you never need to try and stop him.” John looks past James’s red face to the two startled men sitting directly in front of him, “Gentlemen,” John motions to the men, “If you’ll come with me, please.”

James is seething at him, his eyes spitting fire, his posture rigid, every inch of him the very essence of the man John fell in love with. John’s cock twitches in his pants and arousal curls in his gut, despite knowing that by look of James, they are in for the mother of all fights. John sees the two diplomats to the door, instructs Muldoon to get them some drinks and tells them he’ll be back with them shortly.

Once the door is closed he turns back to James, “What have I done about what?” 

James stalks toward him, “Would you like to explain to me why my CO informed me that I’ll be riding a desk from now on?”

“Oh, fuck.” John runs his hands over his face with a sigh, “I’m sorry. I didn’t actually mean for that to happen.”

“No? Because it seems pretty fucking purposeful from where I’m standing.” James moves closer, hovering over John, and if John didn’t know him quite so well, he might be afraid, but he knows that James would never harm him. Yell in his face, absolutely, actually lay a hand on him however, that, he knows will never happen. 

“First, you call me at command while I’m on a mission. Force me to explain to a room full of my fucking superiors why the President is calling me personally on a sat phone in the middle of the goddamn desert. A sat phone that exactly three people have the number for mind you.” John can feel his ears go pink at the pointed statement. “And then I get to listen to my CO tell me that I have a very dangerous job, in the most condescending tone I have ever heard, and that the President already has so many things on his mind and that he shouldn’t be worrying about his, and I quote, boyfriend, and therefore I will be coming out of the field and taking a training position in Virginia, effective immediately.” 

James paces away, his hands raking over his head, “Do you know what it’s like to see a Naval Commander use the word boyfriend and know that he’s now picturing us fucking? Jesus Christ John, this is my career. How the fuck am I supposed to be taken seriously?”

“Commander Staley called me your boyfriend?”

“You are missing the fucking point!” James nearly shouts and John nearly whimpers. James’s eyes are blazing, the tendons in his neck standing out, his face hard, his muscles tense making the sleeves of his shirt pull tight over his biceps. He is so incredibly magnificent in his anger that John can’t help himself. 

John twists a fist into his shirt and pulls him into a hard kiss. His teeth bite at James’s lips and James moans around his tongue, his hands lifting John off the ground and depositing him on the desk behind them. 

James takes him apart with his mouth and his hands and finally his cock. John nearly wails as James drives home, one hard demanding thrust after another until John is coming all over his desk and defiling the greatest office in the history of the United State. John is grateful each President picks his own desk. They end up on the couch tangled together in one giant pile of sweating, sated limbs.

John runs his fingers over James’s head where it rests against his chest, “Is a training position in Virginia really so bad?”

James sighs and sits up, “When I’m ready to get out of the field, no. But right now, I’m still very capable, and I love what I do, John. I can’t change that. This is who I was when you met me, and it’s who I am now. I won’t give it up, not even for you. You have to accept me as is or this isn’t going to work.”

“I know, and I do.” John turns his face into James’s chest, “I can’t help that every time you go out I’m terrified of losing you.”

“You and every other WAG.” James chuckles and John smacks him hard on the thigh, “Promise me there aren’t cameras in here.”

“No recording devices allowed in the West Wing. And this room is soundproof.” John yawns and realizes he still has two Japanese diplomats to entertain. “Fuck, I have to get up. I still have guests.”

John stands and stretches, he doesn’t miss the interest in James’s eye as they roam over him with a half smile. James folds his arms behind his head and stretches his back with a groan. He’s nearly irresistible to John, he wants to lie back down on the couch with him and press their bodies together until there is no space between them. 

John pulls his briefs up, “What are you smirking about?”

“You look well fucked.” James says with a self satisfied smile.

John plops himself back into James’s lap, “That’s because I am well fucked.” James leans in for a kiss but they’re interrupted by the door opening and Jack striding in.

“Holy mother of god, do you have no decency?” Jack slams the door shut behind him and immediately turns to face the opposite direction his eyes squeezed shut.

“Knocking Jack, ever fucking heard of it.” James bites out.

“You ever try not fucking in public places?” Jack shoots back.

James and John dress quickly. John walks him to the door and asks, “Will I see you tonight?”

James shakes his head, “I’m on a twenty four hour furlough, plane back to Cali leaves in three hours. Once all the debriefing is done for this mission I’ll be back.”

John nods and tips his head up for a kiss. James smacks his ass on the way out and with a grin says, “Make the call, John.”

Three hours later John calls Commander Staley and tells him in no uncertain terms that he is not to pull James out of the field. That it was all a miscommunication and that he’s terribly sorry for the inconvenience. 

Two days later when James gets back from Coronado, he thanks John by fucking him unconscious over the kitchen island, much to the displeasure of John’s Secret Service.


End file.
